


Paper Houses

by TurtleBread



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Graphic Description, Horror, M/M, Or at least I tried?, Unsettling, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:29:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleBread/pseuds/TurtleBread
Summary: Some choices are harder to live with than others. This is especially true when the world is ending.
Relationships: Mihael "Mikyx" Mehle/Luka "PerkZ" Perković
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Paper Houses

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this in 2021 but then I decided I didn't want this to be the first thing I posted in 2021. (': Hope y'all enjoy this! Heed the warnings in the tags!

The house is quiet when Luka returns, except for the squelching of the contents of his backpack. He takes quiet steps past the threshold, carefully placing his axe on the dining room table to be cleaned later. After toeing his boots off and leaving them at the door, he half expects his arrival to go unnoticed. Still, somehow, Mihael always knows. 

“Welcome back.” Mihael’s voice is raspier now than it was a few months ago, a sign of the changing times. Water is scarce, and energy scarcer. Food and electricity were hard to come by these days, though they were at least fortunate enough to have a roof over their heads. 

Others were not so lucky. The putrid scent that wafted through the small town that they occupied was proof enough. He meets Mihael’s gaze to avoid looking out the window at the wasteland that lay beyond.

“Thanks,” he finally replies, masking his grimace behind a forced smile. He throws the backpack on the couch and winces as it squishes against the cushions before tumbling onto the floor. They both pointedly ignore the liquid that starts to seep out of it. “I guess I was too loud. Sorry if I woke you.” 

He pretends to miss Mihael’s confused expression by turning towards the kitchen, immediately rummaging through the cabinets to pull out the remainder of the canned food. There’s only three or four cans left, but it should be enough to tide them over for the next week. Mihael hasn’t been a heavy eater since the whole apocalypse-thing started. 

The sound of clinking metal masks the sound of whatever Mihael is doing in the living room. If Luka had just remembered where he put the can opener, he might have been able to hold a conversation with Mihael while they enjoyed their dinner. As it is, he resigns himself to a quiet meal as he forages for the device. He’s pouring out half a can of unidentifiable mush into a ceramic bowl as Mihael enters the kitchen and heads straight towards the sink. 

“I’m not sure how safe the water is here, Miha. Don’t use too much of it.” 

Mihael hums in response as he rinses his hands under the water, and Luka watches it run black into the drain. It kills his appetite more than the quality of the food, and he pushes his bowl away to eat later. After Mihael flaps his hands to dry them as best as possible, he takes the seat in front of Luka and pushes the bowl back in front of him. “Eat. You went out today, you need to keep up your strength.” 

“Do you want any?” Luka picks up the spoon as Mihael shakes his head, just as he knew he would. He starts to shovel the goop into his mouth as Mihael takes the axe and a dirty dish towel, dampening it with water from the sink before running it across the blade. They both watch the towel turn brown-black, though Luka is the first to look away. He finishes his meal and slides the bowl to the side. He can use it later for the other half of the can if he’s hungry. 

Mihael moves the weapon back to the entryway of the house when he’s done, standing back to admire the way the metal glints under the light of the setting sun. It’ll be too dark soon for them to do anything more than catch a few meager hours of sleep before the sun comes back up, but there’s more than enough light for him to see the mess in the living room. 

The couch is stained in the same dark liquid as the dish towel, and the backpack itself sits in a puddle of it, slack and empty. The smell of decay has made its way into the room, though it’s a smell that the pair have grown used to by now. They will only be able to stay here a few more days before they have to leave again, Mihael can tell by the _dot, dot, dot_ of aged blood that trails from the tainted rug to the door of the house. It’s only a matter of time before their choices catch up to them. He closes his eyes.

“We need to leave soon. Martin will know we’re here.” 

When he opens them, Luka is standing right beside him, surveying the scene. Not for the first time, he feels more dead than he is. “ _We_ don’t need to leave. _You_ need to leave.” He looks down at his hands, at the greyness of his fingers and the black of his nails where the skin has begun decomposing. When he looks up, he catches Luka staring, too. “This is what I am now, Luka. You should just go.”

“You’re still sentient,” Luka mumbles back, not making eye contact. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you.” 

“Sentient for how long?” There’s a long pause, and Mihael knows they’re both thinking of Marcin. Excitable, loveable Marcin who was the first one of them to be infected. Luka had killed him that day, killed him because he had begged so prettily for it, and Luka didn’t have the strength to say no. When they burned his body later that night, they watched the black smoke spiral into the sky and didn’t leave the pyre until it burned pure and white, bleeding into the rays of the rising sun. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be lucid like this,” he tries again, more gently this time. “You can still go back. Martin will think I did it. You can still go back.” 

He thinks of Rasmus, imagines him lighting the room with his smile. Then he imagines how he tasted, supple and soft. Delicious. He stops imagining. His mouth aches, and the vacant backpack on the floor taunts him. 

“I don’t deserve to go back,” Luka whispers, eyes locked on the splotches on the couch. He remembers Rasmus differently, sees him flailing in his memories. His arms curl around a phantom body, limp in his arms. “It’s too late for me too, Miha.”

The last of the light is gone. There is nothing left to say. The moon curls its petrifying gaze over the two and leaves them frozen in time.


End file.
